


the ties that hold your mind and lock me out

by opheliahyde



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Kidnapping, Mind Games, Missing Scene, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6088909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliahyde/pseuds/opheliahyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three missing moments between Paloma and Richie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the ties that hold your mind and lock me out

It doesn’t take Paloma long to figure it out, even though he grabbed her, shoved a sack over head—Richie wasn’t the one she should be afraid of. When Santanico leaves, he comes and surveys the damage, asks her if anyone is hurt, takes them to the bathroom one by one, brings them food, blankets and pillows, tries to make them comfortable.

“Why don’t you let us out?” she asks when he passes bags of food through the bars.

( _a cage is still a cage, and sometimes she thinks she can see it in his eyes that he knows that, watches them like something’s twisting up inside him and she wants to tug on it until it breaks_ )

He doesn’t rebuke her, doesn’t tell her to get away from the bar; he holds her gaze, sure and steady. “You know, she’s not as bad as she acts,” he says, passing her a crinkled brown bag.

Paloma spits at him.

He dodges it, easy, standing up and moving away from the bars, lifts his hands from his sides and opens them palm up like an offering, like he might pray. “I promise you’ll get out of this, and then I’ll see you free.”

Paloma spits again, tossing his food to the side, curling in on herself, legs folded to her chest, arms wrapped around herself.

“Your promises are worth _mierda_.”

 

 

Richard mends the cuts and scrapes Santanico gives them, breathing out through his nose, resisting just as he had the night Santanico tried to dangle them in front of them, like sweet delicacies in front of a starving man—his hands pressing white bandages to their skin and whispering soothing things.

( _he was like her but not, was her once, maybe, a different sort of captive, can see it in his eyes when Santanico comes close, an old fear that freezes him until it melts away into nothingness, disappears as he leans into her touch, the pair of them similar and different—he is like looking into the future, like looking into Santanico’s eyes and seeing herself there, chilling and sickening_ )

“What did she do to you? Why are you helping her?” Paloma asks, watching the way he shudders checking one of the other girls—Florencia—for marks and bruises, an echo of worry behind his eyes, remembering the flash of gold in his eyes sometimes; he expression hardens, muscles coiling under his suit, but he doesn’t answer still. “Did she give you a taste of her power, Richard?”

He turns and locks his eyes on hers—they’re blue and cold, a stare that feels empty, fathomless, reflecting and hiding secrets buried deep beneath the surface, but Paloma thinks she can touch it, make sense of it, something she recognizes in her eyes when she sees her face in the video Santanico records. “She has her reasons, for everything she does,” Richard says, running a hand through his hair, mussing the sleek wet locks. “Sometimes I know it doesn’t seem fair, but–”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” she asks, crawling towards the bars, gripping her hands around them. “Is that how you live with helping her? Working with her? After what she did?”

Richard’s mouth twists, an ugly sort of smile that makes her heart thud against her ribs, her breath hitching when he reaches through the bars, his fingers cold when they graze her neck, picking up her necklace and tugging, turning the pendant over in his fingers

“Nice necklace.”

 

 

Richard’s hands are harsh when he grabs her, spins her around; she almost doesn’t tell him, almost spits in his face and hopes it lands this time, but she remembers, she _remembers–_

–Paloma had always known, squirming in her gut whenever she touched her, whispered in her ear, blood turning her skin hot; la diosa real and harsh, but her— _Kisa_ , who sacrificed herself to keep her safe, her kept her promises, _gentle mother_ , answer to her prayers twisted up into a creature of her nightmares.

She takes a deep breath and tells him, watching his eyes and sees her own expression mirrored, with guilt, anger, and confusion, bound to _la diosa_ in their own ways, each with their own paths to follow—she watches his back when he goes.

Santanico has a way of commanding loyalty, even from the most poisoned places.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://richiesseth.tumblr.com)!


End file.
